


Honestly, Fuck Brooklyn

by stfustucky (iwillpaintasongforlou)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky just wants aliens to stop fucking up his neighborhood, Dick Jokes, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Oral Sex, Shrunkyclunks, all the avengers have secret identities, bucky is super oblivious, cap!steve - Freeform, featuring Nat as a badass because it's Nat, lots of snark and a healthy dollop of feelings, minor mentions of violence towards aliens, modern!Bucky, the whole thing smacks of crackfic tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 03:23:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19242823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillpaintasongforlou/pseuds/stfustucky
Summary: So, aliens are attacking and have shredded Brooklyn to smithereens, which pretty much makes it a typical Tuesday afternoon in New York. Bucky Barnes, long time Brooklyn resident, has Been There and Done That. What's less typical is the redhead who breaks into his apartment to rescue him, the underground bunker he's stashed in, and the sudden appearance of masked superhero Captain America kissing Bucky breathless and calling him baby. Good thing Bucky knows how to throw a punch.((Or, the one where it takesyet anotherapocalypse for the somewhat oblivious Bucky Barnes to figure out that his dorky artist boyfriend Steve is actually Captain Goddamned America. Whoops.))





	Honestly, Fuck Brooklyn

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this little dollop of nonsense, sponsored by my enjoyment of a good name drop and my undying love of the modern!bucky/cap!steve combo. Shoutout to my squad for listening to me rant about this concept and not hating me for sending me screenshots of my own work because I just think I'm so goddamn funny. Enjoy!

If Bucky didn’t love Brooklyn so goddamn much, he would have packed his shit up and moved out six or seven armageddons ago.

It was honestly exhausting, living in a place where every time you turned around there was a spaceship parked on your roof or some demigod flying through the storefront of your favorite deli or your workout was getting disrupted by general chaos and terror. Insurance rates were astronomical, and the entire neighborhood pretty much embodied the phrase “this is why we can’t have nice things.” Truly, the only reason why Bucky still bothered living there was because Brooklyn had been his home for 25 years now and he loved those streets with every fiber of his being.

Even still, it was a pretty near thing.

Today’s crisis seemed to be of the generic ‘alien invasion’ variety, with a massive, sun-eclipsing _thing_ hovering a few blocks over from Bucky’s apartment. It seemed to be either offloading or giving birth to (depending on whether the big thingy was organic or not, and honestly at this point it was hard to tell with alien shit) a horde of vaguely humanoid extraterrestrial invaders. They could fly, which made things tricky, but they couldn’t breathe fire like the ones last month, so that was an improvement. Certainly nothing that the Avengers --the team of masked superheroes that had been named earth’s mightiest defenders and New York’s most efficient demolition crew-- couldn’t handle.

Bucky sighed heavily as he let the curtain fall back into place and stepped away from the glass that was already rattling in its frame. He knew the drill. There was a go bag by the door, but he was smart enough to know that there was no sense running now. The thingamabob was too close, the fighting too hectic, and any attempt to flee would probably result in him being trampled to death by the hundreds of other Brooklynites trying to do the same. That’s _if_ he didn’t get murdered or abducted by the aliens themselves.

No, the wisest course of action was to hunker down and wait it out. He’d take his go bag and camp out in the bathtub, which he figured was probably the safest spot in the apartment. He doubted the lack of windows would help him if the building collapsed around him, but if it was his time to go then it was his time to go. At least he’d go out the way he’d always wanted-- in his pajamas, eating snacks, with Bring It On playing on his tablet.

The battle raged on outside, the war cries of the aliens now met by lots of glass breaking and thunder booming that could only mean the Avengers had arrived. The electricity went out, no surprise there. Good thing Bucky’s go bag had a portable charger for the tablet in it. He turned up the volume to drown out the background noise and helped himself to a can of sour cream and onion Pringles. Hey, if the world was ending, carbs didn’t matter, right?

He almost didn’t react when he heard a window break out in the main part of the apartment, except that the tinkle of glass was followed by a murmur that sounded suspiciously like a word Winnie Barnes would have smacked him for using. Did aliens use the same expletives as Terrans? It seemed improbable, which concerned Bucky more than anything else he’d seen or heard so far today. If it wasn’t an alien that had just busted through his window, then it must have been--

The bathroom door swung open to reveal a slender redheaded woman in a shimmery green cocktail dress who Bucky had never seen before in his life. In one hand she held a pair of delicate black stilettos. In the other hand she held a wicked looking black handgun. On the whole, Bucky wasn’t sure whether he should be terrified or aroused, so he settled on both. _Sorry Stevie._

Sharp green eyes fixed on Bucky, the weapon lowering to point at the floor instead of sweeping the tiny space for potential enemies. “Hey,” the woman said coolly.

“Hey,” Bucky fired back brilliantly. “Are you, uh--?” He stopped. How the hell had he been intending to finish that sentence anyway? _‘An alien’? ‘A figment of my imagination’? ‘Going to murder me in my pajamas’?_

“I’m friendlier than I look,” the answer came anyways, though it didn’t do much to settle Bucky’s confusion. “Do you have shoes? We need to go.”

Bucky found himself rising to his feet and following her from the bathroom as she stepped back out of the space, snagging his backpack as he went. “Yeah, I’ve got my sneakers right here. Sorry, where are we going? Also, uh, who are you?”

“I’m Nat,” said Nat, who watched with bemusement as Bucky hopped on one foot as he tried to tug sneakers on over his bare feet without undoing the laces first. “I’m also a long story that we don’t have time for. Come with me, we’re headed for safety. The fight is right on your doorstep.”

“I figured as much, it was getting pretty loud,” Bucky said with a shrug. His shoes were on almost correctly, so that was good enough. He grabbed a hoodie off the back of the couch on instinct. Would there be air conditioning in the apocalypse? He doubted it, but if there was, no one was gonna catch him freezing to death because he happened to flee calamity in his Iron Man tank top and some gym shorts.

Nat raised an eyebrow at him, the strongest facial expression Bucky had seen her make yet. “And at any point did you think about maybe --just spitballing here-- getting out of the way of the fight? Thereby preserving and prolonging your life? Or are you just really attached to your bathtub?”

“It… seemed like a solid option at the time.” Bucky scowled. “I thought you said we were short on time. Maybe we should head for the stairs or something instead of sitting here critiquing my emergency protocols.”

“I said we didn’t have time for my backstory,” Nat corrected, glancing at her watch. “No, we have about five seconds left.”

“Left until what?”

“Until the distraction. Get ready to run, Bucky Barnes.”

Bucky had just enough time to wonder _should I really be trusting this person? and how the hell does she know my name?_ before the room filled up with the boom of thunder and the blinding white flash of lightning. Nat closed a perfectly manicured hand around Bucky’s wrist, tugged, and they were off.

Whatever level of agility Bucky was expected from a skinny, barefoot woman in a cocktail dress, Nat far exceeded it. Bucky could barely keep up with her as they crawled through the window and down the fire escape into the chaos. A flash of color overhead caught Bucky’s eye and he found the source of the distraction in the billowing of a red cape. Thor, the weird thunder deity dude, bellowed something at an alien before crushing its skull with his giant hammer.

Nat pulled Bucky along the street at breakneck pace, eyes flickering up to the sky every few seconds to watch for threats. Once, an alien rounded the corner on foot just a few yards ahead of them and her right arm --the one now holding the handgun and the stilettos-- whipped up to fire before Bucky could so much as squeak in alarm. The thing collapsed to the ground with a bullet between its eyes. Or at least, between some of them. There were at least seven that Bucky could count. Which, eww.

It was hard to say how long they ran for. If you measured by how sweaty and disheveled and out of breath they were, Bucky’s desperate gulping for air would suggest an hour. Nat’s perfectly cool complexion would suggest she was bored. In reality, it was probably about five minutes or so that they spent racing through the streets, putting more and more distance between them and the battle raging above Brooklyn.

Nat came to an abrupt halt, so quick that Bucky only narrowly avoided running into the back of her. “Here,” she said brusquely, shoving the gun into Bucky’s hand. “Hold this for a second.”

“Wait, what?” Bucky yelped, barely closing his hand around the grip in time to avoid dropping the weapon in his surprise. “What are you-- I don’t know what to do with this thing!”

“Pull the trigger to make it go boom. Point it at the bad guys. _Don’t_ point it at me.” Nat shot him a stern look over her shoulder as she knelt and started pulling at a manhole cover in the sidewalk. When it slid back, Bucky saw not a deep dark hole as he was expecting, but rather a shiny metal circle with a panel in the middle that Nat lifted to reveal a keypad.

“What kind of sewer does _that_ lead to?” Bucky mumbled, peering over Nat’s shoulder curiously as she started typing an extremely long string of numbers into the keypad without seeming to reference anything except her memory. A boom echoed in the distance behind them and he nervously scanned the street, palm sweating around the gun’s handle.

“The fancy top secret kind,” answered Nat, rising and holding out her hand for the gun. “I’ll take that back. Step onto the circle, I’ll cover you.”

“Cover me? Wait, what happens when I step on the circle?” Bucky complied even as the questions kept coming. “Shouldn’t we be seeking cover inside somewhere? What are we waiting for? What the--”

He probably could have thought of at least a dozen more decent questions to ask, but they were cut off as the metal disk beneath Bucky’s feet lurched and started to descend quickly into the ground. There was one stomach- churning moment where he felt like he was falling, and then the movement was through just as quickly as it started and Bucky was coming to rest in the middle of a well-lit hallway of some sort of building what must have been forty feet underground.

As if this day could get any weirder.

“Step back for a second,” Nat’s voice called down the hole, echoing slightly.

Bucky did, too bewildered to do anything else, and the disk that had carried him down shot back to the surface. He could see now some pipes supporting it from underneath, air hissing as it was hydraulically propelled through the hole and up out of sight. After a tense moment of waiting wherein Bucky looked around nervously and fervently wished he had the gun still --point it at the bad guys and pull the trigger to make it boom, had to be better than sitting here undefended, right?-- the disk sped to the floor once more with his companion aboard.

Nat was wearing her spiky heels now, not appearing unbalanced by either their precarious support or the movement of the platform, and there was no more gun in her hand. Bucky wondered if she’d left it on the street or if she’d stashed it on her person. Considering how little fabric there was to Nat’s dress he _had_ to believe it was the former, but if the last twenty minutes had taught Bucky anything it was that this woman was chock full of mysteries. He tried not to think about it any harder than that.

“There, much better,” Nat said with a satisfied hum, striding off lithely down the hallway in one direction with an air of someone who knew exactly where she was going. “You should be safe now. Come _on,_ Barnes, keep up.”

“That reminds me, how do you know my name?” Bucky asked suspiciously, scrambling to get his feet moving so he could catch up to the woman. “I never even introduced myself but you know who I am.”

“Oh, we have a… mutual friend, of sorts. It’s a long story, for another time.” Nat shrugged, turning into another, smaller hallway and gliding a few more yards to an ominous looking black door with enormous bolts securing it all around. “Look, I don’t really want to let you out of my sight but I’m also not interested in sitting on my ass somewhere without staying informed, so do you think you could handle shutting up and staying out of the way for a few minutes?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “What am I, a dog?”

“I could put a leash and a muzzle on you, if that helps.”

“Sounds kinky. I’m in a very happy, very committed relationship, thankyouverymuch. I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate you making those kind of advances.”

Nat snorted with amusement. “Well, wouldn’t want loverboy getting jealous, would we? Come on, I’m already late to the party. Just hang back and try not to let anyone trip over you, okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, Nat placed her hand on a plain black panel next to the door that proceeded to light up with a series of quiet beeps. It scanned her palm like a copy machine, and after half a second Bucky realized it must be reading her handprint. _What kind of sci-fi shit is going on here?_ Bucky wondered, right before Nat leaned down and let the same lasers scan her eyes.

“Romanova, Natalia.” At the sound of Nat’s clear, strong voice, the scanner lit up once more with the words ACCESS GRANTED - UNRESTRICTED. Bucky prepared himself to ask his one millionth question of the day, but the words died on his lips before they ever had a chance as soon as the door swung in to reveal the room beyond.

It was a massive space, the upper part of which was filled with dozens of enormous screens showing what appeared to be live footage of the invasion from security cameras and smartphones alike. The floor of the room was teeming with people decked out in all black tactical gear and grim expressions. A few of them saw Nat and nodded or saluted, but most of them were too busy scurrying from screen to screen in a panic to notice anyone had arrived.

“What the hell kind of shelter is this?” Bucky asked, but he did so in the barest of whispers. He wasn’t entirely certain Nat had been joking about the muzzle thing.

The woman in question was already sauntering into the middle of the room, her eyes flicking from screen to screen like she was actually able to make some sort of sense from the hubbub. She took up a position right next to an authoritative looking man in a military uniform decked out in medals who was barking orders at everyone else. The festive sheen of her dress looked out of place next to his stern, rigid form, and yet she managed to carry just as much authority in her diminutive frame as the man did in his towering one.

As for Bucky, he stepped timidly into the room and melted backwards until his shoulders hit a wall. The cool metal on his skin where the raggedy tank top didn’t cover him up was only partially responsible for the goosebumps up and down his arms. Whatever this room was, whoever these people were, Bucky was suddenly very aware that he did _not_ belong here.

Ten long minutes passed with Bucky pressed into the shadows on the edge of the room, trying not to breathe or blink in a way that would draw any attention to himself. He knew exactly how long it was because of the wall of clocks marking the time in various major cities. Paris, Tokyo, Sydney, Los Angeles, and Hong Kong all agreed that he was going to be dealing with some super fucked up cramping in his calves if he didn’t stretch them out after all that running soon.

He tried to be as unobtrusive as possible as he rolled his ankles and flexed his feet in their raggedy sneakers, Unfortunately, Bucky Barnes was not a graceful man on the best of days, let alone after spending the last half hour in a whirlwind of fire escapes and sidewalk sprinting and statue impersonating. He went up on his toes and immediately started to wobble, lurching sideways into a desk and upending a cup of writing utensils with a stray elbow.

The collision might have gone unnoticed in the din of the hectic room if one of the pens hadn’t gotten kicked around by a few passing figures and wound up somersaulting into the kneecap of the military man next to Nat. He looked down at the tiny projectile and then tracked its path back to the source with steely eyes that withered Bucky when they locked on his.

_Ah, shit._

“Why the _fuck_ is there a civilian in my war room?” the man roared, arms flying wide in a gesture of exasperated fury that almost takes out a nearby woman. “Of all the goddamn times for a field trip-- you, what’s your name and why are you breathing my air?”

He was pointing one fat, overly aggressive finger right at him, but Bucky looked around anyway in hope that there might be a different potential victim nearby. There wasn’t. It took him two clearings of his throat to be able to answer. “Uhhh, James Barnes?”

The man’s face gets redder. “And who the _hell_ is James Barnes?”

_Was that supposed to be some sort of philosophical question?_ Bucky thought deliriously. Maybe he should answer that with a riddle, or like, a cosmic purpose statement. Something bizarre enough to match this whirlwind of a day--

Nat’s voice, calm and collected as ever, carried easily over the clamor of the room. “You may know him better as Bucky.”

And then, the room went silent.

Where seconds before a dozen voices had been shouting in competition to be heard, now you could hear a pin drop in the echoing space. All eyes turned to Bucky, filled with a mix of surprise, admiration, and --if Bucky wasn’t tripping, though at this point he couldn’t confirm that-- just a little bit of trepidation.

The woman who’d almost been decapitated by the HBIC’s gesticulation looked back and forth between Bucky and Nat. “Wait, you mean _that_ Bucky?”

“Yup.”

Another background peon chimed in. “As in, Steve Rogers’ boyfriend, Bucky?”

“Yup.”

Bucky’s spine had straightened at the mention of Steve’s name, and so had the angry man’s. Although, come to mention it, he looked a lot less angry now and a lot more shocked. “Well I’ll be damned,” he said, giving Bucky a more thorough inspection. “Way to bury the lead, Romanoff.”

“Way to let an inkpen distract you from a firefight, General. Can we focus here? I have dinner plans I’d like to make tonight.”

Nat’s dry tone brought some life back to the room, the general turning back to the main screen and everyone else returning to their business. More than one of the voices in the room had dropped to a scandalized whisper, though, and Bucky could sense many pairs of eyes on him. Someone rolled a chair over to him with a mumbled _here, take my seat, Mr. Barnes._ Yet another pressed a bottle of water into Bucky’s hand and scurried away before he could even say a word of thanks.

After a second, Bucky relaxed into the new atmosphere. He’d decided that this was all one really weird dream. He got those sometimes if he ate too many slices of pizza and fell asleep with the TV on. Usually he’d hear Steve snoring next to him and wake up talking some shit about a bear, or else get confused and think he was swimming and start kicking at the sheets until Steve got irritated and kicked him back. This whole intricate underground apocalypse bunker scenario would be a first, sure, but there was really no other logical explanation.

(And if ever there were proof that veggie lovers pizza was a crime, this was it. Suck it, Steve. Congrats on your first and last time being in charge of ordering dinner.)

The epic alien battle appeared to be wrapping up, now that one of the larger screens --which, freakishly, appeared to be showing the view from _inside_ Iron Man’s helmet?-- had shown the mothership being blasted to smithereens in midair. Bucky was pretty sure he saw a chunk of it fly into a building that looked just like his, flattening the whole place. Okay, so maybe the bathtub hadn’t been the stellar hiding place Bucky had assumed. Hopefully Steve’s building a few blocks over fared better, since Bucky was gonna be crashing at his place for a while.

Some of the feeds were starting to go dark as the various Avengers they followed packed up and went home, or wherever superheroes went when they finished kicking alien ass. Someone was calling out their names as they went. _Captain America, disengaged. Hulk, disengaged. Thor, disengaged. Iron Man, disengaged. Hawkeye, disengaged._ Nat seemed to relax a little more with each one, until finally all the names had been called and she nodded to herself and retreated from her place of distinction to fade back towards Bucky’s patch of wall.

“Can I borrow this?” she asked a man sitting at his desk, placing a hand on the back of his chair. He practically leaped out of it. “Thanks,” she said, seemingly unconcerned by his expression of fear and awe. She pushed the chair over to Bucky’s and sat down next to him, crossing her legs primly. Bucky thought he saw a flash of a thigh holster beneath that impossibly short hem. “So, have you figured it all out yet, Barnes?”

“I think so,” Bucky mused, thinking again about that weirdo pizza he was forced to eat last night. “Steve has a lot to answer for."

“I bet. Still, don’t be too hard on him. He’s a good guy trying to do the best he can under the circumstances. He cares about you, wants what’s best for you.”

“Yeah, well, my cholesterol is fine, so next time it’s Meat Lovers for sure.”

Nat swiveled to face him more directly, her eyes narrowing slightly to search Bucky’s face. “I’m… I’m not sure we’re on the same page here.”

“He’s always fussing at me to eat more vegetables, but at what cost? This _can’t_ be quality sleep here. I’ve got to be firing on all cylinders to imagine this level of detail. I mean look at--”

Bucky’s tirade against the effects of shitty pizza on the human subconscious was cut off by a commotion on the other side of the room. There was the clang of a metal door bursting open and slamming against the wall, a surprised murmur of voices, and then a scrambling of feet and screech of jostled desks as people hurried to get out of the way of whoever was entering. As the crowd parted, Bucky saw none other than Captain America himself, bloodied and torn from battle, striding into the room like a man still on a mission.

Everyone else seemed to be suddenly leaping to their feet so Bucky followed suit, absently admiring the grace in Captain America’s determined strut. If he was tired or wounded from battle he didn’t show it, back straight and jaw set as he closed the distance between them. And those thighs, in the uniform? Bucky was feeling a little thirsty all of a sudden. Like, lost in the Sahara thirsty.

“I think I need a therapist,” he mused under his breath, right before Captain America reached him.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Captain America said, reaching out to sweep his gloved hand across Bucky’s cheek. “God, am I glad to see you here.” He took Bucky’s waist in his free hand and yanked him close, cupping Bucky’s jaw and holding him there as he leaned in and kissed him deeply right on the mouth.

Bucky’s right hook went careening into Captain America’s face about three seconds later, as soon as his brain had recovered from the shock. Unfortunately for Bucky, the gesture seemed to hurt him more than it did his target. “Mother _fucker,”_ he swore emphatically, cradling his hand to his chest as it throbbed from impact with what appeared to be a titanium jawline.

“What the hell was that for?” Captain America asked with astonishment, stumbling back a half step, looking back and forth between Bucky’s face and his injured hand with surprise. He didn’t even have the decency to rub his jaw and pretend that it hurt, the bastard.

“For kissing me, asshole,” Bucky said crossly, his offense only amplified by the ineffectiveness of his attack. “What, you think that just because you’re some hero you can just walk in and plant one on whoever you want? I’m taken, buddy, get your victory smooches from somebody else.”

The people in the room, who had been looking on with confusion, began whispering among themselves. Captain America, equally bewildered, turned his gaze to Nat. “You… you didn’t tell him?”

“What, and do your dirty work for you? Not a chance, buddy. I played fetch for you and kept him safe when I would have much rather been out there in the fray. That’s all the favors you’re getting out of me tonight. _This_ mess--” she gestured to the space between Captain America and Bucky, “--is all on you. Good luck. Nice meeting you, Bucky Barnes.”

And with that, Nat rose and sauntered away, blowing a kiss over her shoulder in Bucky’s direction.

“Alright, that’s it,” Bucky said crossly, pressing his hurt hand into his stomach and trying to look tough. “This is the goddamn weirdest dream ever and I’m really getting tired of it.”

“Bucky, baby, it’s alright,” Captain America said soothingly, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“And that’s another thing, how does everyone keep knowing who I am when I have no freaking clue who everyone else is?” Bucky huffed, even more put out. “This is all Steve’s fault, and I swear when I wake up I’m going to kick his scrawny ass!”

“Sweetheart, I’m _sorry.”_

“Stop calling me pet names, you’re not my boyf--” Bucky stopped. The chatter in the room stopped. A suspicious thought was dawning in Bucky’s mind, fueled by a pair of strangely familiar blue eyes. It couldn’t be, because it was crazy talk. It was impossible to even consider, except….? “There’s no way,” Bucky whispered.

Everything had stopped except for Captain America, who had reached up and unclasped the strap under his chin. He hooked his thumb under the edge of his helmet and tugged upward until the mask protecting his identity peeled away.

“So, I can explain,” Steve said sheepishly.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Bucky said dumbly, reaching out to grab his boyfriend by the chin and turn his face from side to side just to make sure he wasn’t seeing thing. Steve _\--Captain fucking America!!--_ let him do it. “Is this a practical joke? Are these actors? Are you an actor?” he asked a nearby grunt, who shook his head vigorously. “You mean to tell me that my boyfriend, my shy, sweet, kind of nerdy boyfriend is actually a freaking superhero?”

“It’s a long story,” Steve sighed. “Or actually, not that long, really. My identity is a secret, both to protect me and to protect the people in my life. If you knew who I was, you’d be in danger. I had to keep it a secret, Buck, honest. I didn’t like keeping the truth from you but it was for the best.”

“Yeah, because life in New York is so safe for everyone who doesn’t know your name,” Bucky huffed with a roll of his eyes. “That lack of knowledge really would have kept me safe from the gigantic robot alien thing that pancaked my building an hour ago.”

Steve winced. “Yeah, that was... a little too close for comfort. That’s why I sent Widow to get you and bring you here to the SHIELD outpost, so that I wouldn’t have to worry about you during the fight.”

There was so much to unpack there that Bucky genuinely didn’t know where to start. “You fought that thing. SHIELD outpost. Widow. Wait, as in _Black Widow?_ The deadly former assassin turned earth’s defender? _That’s_ who broke into my apartment and brought me here?”

“I sent my very scariest friend to come and get you, do I get points for that?” Steve asked, a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

“I resent that,” came a voice from behind Bucky. It had a weirdly metallic tone to it, which made more sense when he turned around and saw Iron Man walking towards them. Even as Bucky looked, the armor began to fold away to reveal a face Bucky had seen before on the TV and in magazines. “I think I’m very scary, actually. Tony Stark, A.K.A. Iron Man. I would have come to get you myself and flown you out of there and saved you all that running, but bossy boots over here was afraid I’d traumatize you. Nice tank top, by the way.”

In a daze, Bucky looked down at his Iron Man top. He was too overwhelmed to even be properly embarrassed, though there was a small voice in the back of his head saying that he definitely would be later. “Thanks,” he managed to get out, “he’s my favorite Avenger. I mean you’re my favorite. I mean… this is a lot to handle.”

“Of course it is,” Stark said sympathetically. “I remember when my girlfriend found out I was doing the hero gig. She found me trying on a new suit of armor, screamed at me for an hour and a half, then made me make my own coffee for like a week straight. Overall, you’re taking this really well.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Tony,” Steve cut into the rambling, turning his shoulder so that Bucky was half slotted behind him. “I think Bucky probably wants some peace and quiet right now, not more motormouthing.”

“Ah, well, father knows best. Guess I’ll jet off home. Bucky,” Tony added, leaning around Steve to look at the newcomer, “I like you already. You’ve got good taste. I’m gonna get you some more Iron Man merch, have it sent to you. You a boxers guy or a briefs guy? Someone came out with this super cute line of Avengers undies, so you can rep the best Avenger even on your--”

_“Tony!”_

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Ciao everyone, good job on the alien fighting, blah blah, see you next time.” Tony threw two peace signs in the air and retreated, taking a few agents with him.

Bucky’s energy seemed to leave the room around then too, and he flopped back into his seat looking more battleworn than the heroes who actually did the fighting. Steve was kneeling before him in an instant. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

“Other than needing a fuckton of vodka to be able to process this? Yeah, I’m fine,” Bucky groaned. “Can we get out of here? I’m ready to go home.” He winced, remembering the footage he’d seen on the screens. “Or maybe not. Did _your_ apartment survive, at least? I really don’t feel like staying in some slimy motel in Queens tonight.”

“What kind of man do you take me for? Like I’d let you get bit up by _Queens_ fleas,” Steve scoffed playfully, placing a kiss on Bucky’s forehead as he stood. “Come on, let’s go. We can stay at my place in Manhattan.”

“I’m sorry, your _what?”_ Bucky asked, even as he let himself be pulled to his feet. “You have a whole secret lair in Manhattan? Do you have a separate Manhattan boyfriend, too?”

“Of course not,” Steve said hurriedly, cheeks going pink. “And it’s not a _lair._ It’s not even my place, really. Stark just gave the team rooms at his tower, in case we ever needed someplace to go. Bruce and Nat are the only ones who live there full time, everyone else drifts in and out.”

Steve took Bucky by the hand and gently pulled him towards the door, glancing nervously over at Bucky every few steps as if waiting for him to suddenly drop into a faint or something. Bucky did his best to look less shaky than he felt. “Okay, so Nat is Black Widow, Tony Stark is Iron Man, and you’re Captain America. Which one is this Bruce character?”

“Uh, he’s the Hulk. Or rather, the Hulk is his alter ego.” They made their way through the hallways, in the opposite direction of the way Bucky came in. A few people along the way looked at Steve like they were going to say something, but he gave them stern looks and they visibly reconsidered that course of action. “He’s not green and scary all the time. Mostly he’s just Bruce.”

“Cool, so we’re staying at Hulk’s house tonight. No big deal, as you do,” Bucky mumbled. Steve led them into what appeared to be an underground garage. “So tell me, Mr. Star Spangled Man With a Plan, how are we getting to Manhattan?”

“I’ve got my bike here. Please tell me you’re not going to hold that song against me.”

“I mean, it checks out so far. ‘Strong and brave,’ ‘smart as a fox.’ Tell me, did you really wake a napping giant? That’s very rude, you should have let him sleep.”

“Please shut up and put the helmet on.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

It took them a while to make it to the tower, but Bucky didn’t mind. He needed some time to get his brain to stop doing somersaults. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Steve’s back, his arms wrapped around Steve’s middle, and let the purr of the engine and the cacophony of city noises turn the world dull. The swooping motions of the bike as Steve wove through traffic and debris were calming, enough that by the time they got to the parking garage of Stark tower he actually felt almost human.

“I always wondered how you could manhandle me despite the fact that I’m not exactly a feather,” Bucky mused as they rode the elevator up. Steve pulled him closer until Bucky’s cheek was pressed against his chest, and Bucky went easily. “And here I was always worried about squishing you. Think of all the cheeseburgers I skipped trying to stay dainty.”

Steve made a displeased sound. “I’ll make you a million cheeseburgers, love.”

“Don’t get carried away now, I still have to stay fit. I spend a lot of time standing next to goddamn Adonis over here, so I have to work hard to not look shabby in comparison. Oh my god,” he continued before Steve could inevitably start fussing over how beautiful he thought Bucky was or some sentimental shit like that. “Are you gonna be young and hot forever?”

“I’m not really sure,” Steve answered slowly, like he wasn’t sure what the right answer was here. “I’m the only person to have been successfully given the supersoldier serum, so there’s not really much evidence to go on.”

The supersoldier serum, right. Because Captain America used to be a scrawny kid in the 1940s who got experimented on. And spent 70 years frozen in a crashed airplane. Because _that_ wasn’t a lot to unpack.

Instead of opening that can of worms, Bucky moved on to more pressing matters. “If I go gray and you don’t, you have to dye your hair to match me. I’m not going gray alone, Rogers.”

The elevator dinged and its doors opened just as Steve was giving Bucky a tender kiss on the top of his head, even if it was accompanied by an unattractive snort. “That seems reasonable.”

They stepped into a foyer that was already larger than Bucky’s entire apartment. This entire floor of the tower was Steve’s, he’d explained on their way into the building, an enormous fully equipped space that he rarely visited. That much Bucky could tell. Everything in here was state of the art and very stylish, which made it the opposite of everything Bucky knew his boyfriend to be. There wasn’t even a single Star Wars figurine here, for fuck’s sake.

Bucky twirled slowly, taking in the space. “Hey, if you’re supposed to be the most brilliant strategist in history, how come you can never load the fucking dishwasher correctly?”

“What? How is that even related?” Steve sounded offended. “Those things have nothing to do with each other.”

“Sure they do. You move troops into place on the battlefield, you move the bowls into the correct freaking slot. It isn’t that difficult, Steve.”

He could practically _hear_ Steve rolling his eyes behind Bucky’s back. “Who knows, I am almost a hundred years old, you know. Maybe I’ve gone soft in my old age.”

Yeah, Bucky wasn’t ready to process that number. Deflection it is. “Dear god, I hope not. I like it much better when you’re hard.”

Bucky faced Steve once more, in time to see Steve’s cheeks turn just a little pink. “Bucky, that was a terrible dick joke.”

“Shut up,” Bucky scowled, shoving at Steve’s chest forcefully and not moving him an inch. Jesus, how exactly had he dated this guy for a year without figuring out the supersoldier thing? “I’ve been through trauma today, I can’t be expected to perform at peak.”

At the mention of trauma Steve had wrapped Bucky in his arms once more, but he glared suspiciously down at Bucky as the rest of the words sunk in. “Why do I feel like there’s another dick joke buried in there somewhere?”

“I’d like to have my dick buried in your--”

“Yup, there it is.”

Bucky muffled his laughter in Steve’s chest, then tilted his head back to kiss at the underside of Steve’s jaw. “Thanks for telling me,” he said seriously.

Steve squeezed him tighter. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I don’t know what I was waiting for. I knew I’d have to tell you eventually, and it’s not that I didn’t trust you, I just… You don’t need any extra drama in your life. I guess I was worried that when you found out you’d leave. It was selfish of me to keep lying just so I could keep you for a while longer, but the thought of losing you--”

“Hey, hey, relax, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, dumbass,” Bucky soothed, pulling back to look at Steve with honest ferocity. “What, you think a little star-spangled nonsense is going to make me leave you? Good luck with that. No one’s losing anything.”

Ugh, feelings, vulnerability. _Gross._

Steve looked like he was a little teary-eyed as he nodded, so Bucky tacked on, “Except for you and me losing these clothes. You need to go take a shower and get this --what is that, alien blood? Fuck, that’s nasty-- off of you. And then you can come find me in your fancy schmancy Manhattan bed and screw me into what I hope is a delightfully soft memory foam mattress to atone for your sins. Deal?”

It worked, and Steve’s brimming emotions gave way under a burst of startled laughter. “God, you’re perfection. I love you, you know that?”

“Of course you do, who wouldn’t? Now seriously, don’t touch me any more until you’re un-goopy. Hop to it, soldier.”

Steve hurried off towards what Bucky assumed was a bathroom, and Bucky made himself at home searching through the kitchen for a protein bar and a glass of water. Turns out the night’s events had taken more out of Bucky than he’d originally thought, and now that all the adrenaline and shock were wearing off, Bucky felt exhaustion creeping into his bones. The food and water helped a little, but it still felt like heaven when Bucky found what looked like a master bedroom, stripped to his boxers, and sunk face first into the mattress.

Yes, it was memory foam, and it felt like a _fucking cloud._ Bucky could possibly not hate having to stay here for a while until Brooklyn got its shit together.

He only intended to lay there for a second. There was lube to be located, prep work to be done, and Bucky Barnes was far from a pillow princess. He fully intended to make sure that when Steve got done with his shower, Bucky would be waiting all warm and soft and ready for him.

That mattress tho...

When Bucky felt the comforter slide out from beneath him, he startled back awake with the instant knowledge that he’d been out cold for at least 20 minutes, if the heaviness in his limbs and his inability to open his eyes were any indication. “I’m up, I’m awake,” he mumbled unconvincingly, not moving an inch. “Shit, where’s the lube, I’m behind schedule.”

Steve shushed him softly, laying the comforter down again, this time over Bucky’s chilled back and shoulders. “Go back to sleep, Bucky, you’re exhausted.”

“But I had a plan though. Aren’t you supposed to be all about the plans?”

“There’s a new plan,” Steve chuckled, his breath huffing against Bucky’s shoulder right before a gentle kiss is placed there. “Now the plan is you shut the hell up and get some rest like you clearly need.”

“You saved the world today. Or at least, like, a little bit of a city. You deserve a hero’s reward.”

“I was doing my job. And you, here, safe with me, is all the reward I need.”

This cheesy motherfucker right here, trying to distract Bucky with sentimentality when he was clearly angling for some dick. “Fine then, _I_ deserve a reward, for having survived the weirdest day in history.”

Steve actually appeared to consider that one. His hand, which had been rubbing soothing circles on Bucky’s back, paused at his waist for his fingers to tap thoughtfully at Bucky’s side. “That’s fair enough,” Steve hummed into Bucky’s temple. “But you should rest, too. How about I show you my appreciation and you just lay back and look gorgeous? How does that sound?”

One warm hand had slipped beneath Bucky’s hips to cup his cock through his boxers as Steve spoke, making it difficult for Bucky to think clearly. He was conflicted. Sex with Steve Rogers was not something he liked to half-ass, preferring instead to be an active and vocal participant. He wanted to get up and ride Steve until he saw stars and stripes, but considering that Bucky had all the coordination of a limp noodle currently, that wasn’t really an option.

Ah, what the hell. Who was Bucky to say no a little VIP treatment?

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky mumbled, “knock yourself out, Stevie.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to if you’re too tired,” Steve assured him. Because Steve was, always and unfailingly, a gentleman.  
With a tremendous effort, Bucky rolled himself over onto his back and grabbed a handful of Steve’s hair, tugging him willingly in for a kiss. “I want you, Steve,” he affirmed. “I know you’ve got me.”

Steve didn’t answer with more than a pleased hum, choosing instead to respond by kissing his way down Bucky’s torso. Bucky shivered a little, then let his body go lax again as Steve blazed a meandering trail across Bucky’s skin. He took forever getting downtown, taking his time as always, and Bucky might have fallen back asleep in the interim if the tender kisses hadn’t been going straight to his dick. By the time Steve’s chin was brushing against the bulge in Bucky’s boxers, he was rock hard.

Despite the pace of his descent, Steve must not have been too much in the mood to tease, because he didn’t waste any more time before sliding Bucky’s boxers down his legs and closing his mouth around Bucky’s length. The sudden warm suction had Bucky’s knee jerking up on reflex, almost knocking Steve in the side of the head if he hadn’t caught Bucky’s thigh at the last second. He caressed the soft skin there, cradled Bucky’s thighs in close so that Bucky didn’t even have to expend the energy to support his own legs.

Fuck if that wasn’t hot. Maybe he should let himself be spoiled more often.

It was all quickly downhill from there. Steve was good at goddamn _everything,_ sucking dick included. He was precise and ruthless, having learned all of Bucky’s favorite moves over months and months of practice, and he seemed particularly focused on making Bucky crumble tonight. Every bob of his head forced little huffs of air out of Bucky’s lips, the feeling of his dick sliding over Steve’s tongue making Bucky’s stomach muscles flex and flutter.

“How the fuck did I get this lucky?” Bucky moaned, one hand moving to grip Steve’s hair in a movement completely devoid of coordination. It was probably more a smack to the back of Steve’s head than anything else, but whatever. “Steve, get off before I come in your mouth. I’m never going to survive you fucking me at this rate.”

Steve did pull back, but he didn’t climb off Bucky and go get the lube as expected. He pressed little kisses to the base of Bucky’s dick as he spoke, the rumble of his low voice against such sensitive skin doing amazing and terrible things for Bucky’s proximity to orgasm. “I just wanna give you this, tonight. Everything else can wait til morning.”

Bucky huffed his disapproval. “But you should get off too, that’s not fair.”

“This is me showing you how much I adore you, it doesn’t have to be fair,” Steve murmured, momentarily taking one of Bucky’s balls into his mouth in a _really fucking distracting_ way. “Just shut up and let me make you feel good. I want you to come for me, Buck.”

Jesus this guy was hard to argue with.

“Well fuck,” Bucky managed to exhale, using his hand in Steve’s hair to guide him back up to where Bucky was really craving attention. Steve let his mouth be maneuvered back around Bucky’s cock, resuming his earlier efforts with even less mercy.

It got more and more difficult for Bucky to stay still as the bobbing of Steve’s head got faster and more purposeful. There was still that hazy relaxation in Bucky’s body, but there was also a growing fire in his belly that made his hips keep jerking up off the mattress in tiny, useless thrusts. Steve took the motions in stride, letting Bucky take what he wanted in those moments and then continuing his ministrations when Bucky eased back into the mattress.

“Please, Steve, end it,” Bucky gasped, the hand not in Steve’s hair scrabbling at the sheets for some sort of purchase. “I’m ready, I need to--”

Steve popped of Bucky’s cock and took the length in his hand instead, giving Bucky strong, steady strokes. “I’ve got you, Buck, let go.”

He returned his mouth to Bucky’s cock, his mouth forming perfect suction around the first few inches while his hand worked the rest. Bucky felt Steve’s tongue slide over the tip once, twice, three glorious times, and that was it. Bucky bowed up off the bed, Steve’s free hand sliding beneath the small of his back to support him as Bucky came in his mouth, everything white hot and fireworks for a long, breathless moment.

Bucky forced his eyes open to watch the aftermath. Steve’s throat flexed as he swallowed everything Bucky gave him, his hand gradually slowing in its motions as the groaning aftershocks died down and gave way to agitated whimpers and aborted attempts to pull back from Steve’s touch. Then Steve released him, licking his lips obscenely on his way back up Bucky’s body to give him a searing kiss.

“Thank you,” Steve sayid ardently, and wasn’t that a punch in the gut. Steve Rogers, actual hero and possible angel, thanking _Bucky_ for the blowjob Steve just gave him. Like Bucky wasn’t already head over fucking heels for this guy.

“No problem, anytime,” Bucky said lightly, hoping that Steve couldn’t hear the lump in his throat. “You uh, need any help?”

The way that Steve settled into Bucky’s side with a careful amount of distance between his hips and Bucky’s body was a pretty clear indicator that he did, but Steve still hummed a negative into Bucky’s shoulder anyways. “It’ll keep til morning.”

“I love you, you know that?” Bucky echoed Steve’s words from before, clumsily running his fingernails over the skin of Steve’s back the way he knew Steve adored.

Steve is, of course, far less of an asshole with his answer than Bucky had been with his. “I love you too, Bucky,” he murmured seriously, his hand coming to rest right over Bucky’s heart. “‘Til the end of the line.”

They were both tired enough that the post-coital cuddling turned into snoring indecently quick, but Bucky had enough time to spare a thought for the day’s events before he drifted off. Tomorrow there would be lots to take care of, from conversations about Steve’s double life to trying to figure out how much of Bucky’s possessions had survived the incident. Somehow, though, Bucky didn’t mind. Whatever had happened today in Brooklyn, as long as he was with Steve, he was home.

That was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me, I don't bite unless you ask for it.
> 
> stfustucky | tumblr


End file.
